Drowning on dry land
by Dana Norram
Summary: Locked in a hospital supply closet, Derek has Stiles pressed against the wall. It's not what it looks like. / SLASH-GEN / DerekxStiles / ONESHOT


**Title:** Drowning on dry land  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Pairing/character(s):** Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, The Alpha Pack  
**Disclaimer:** Jeff Davis owns the furniture, MTV owns the house. I'm just the long-necked neighbor.  
**Summary:** Locked in a hospital supply closet, Derek has Stiles pressed against the wall. It's not what it looks like.  
**Warnings:** There's a pretty graphic description of a panic attack and all the angst feels it brings. I have never suffered a panic attack in my life, so it's the result of a bit of research and a lot of imagination. Also, this story has a plot that deals with Stiles missing a dose of his pills and its consequences, so I researched the best I could about ADHD and Adderall. I do not claim to have the first idea about what it's like to live with ADHD, so I apologize in advance in case I got something wrong. Please feel free to point out if you think I need to add a note or a warning or something.  
**Notes:** This is for **shantalanadevil** who bid on me at Sterek Campaign for a 2k long fic. Though I contacted them by emails and private messages, I haven't gotten any reply yet, and as the deadline closed I decided to write a fic and give it to them anyway. Shantalanadevil, I thank you for helping such a beautiful cause and I'm still willing to write you a 2k (maybe longer?) story with any prompt you like, you just let me know. It might take awhile now as my classes have returned for good, but I will get it done. :)  
**Thanks to:** my dear laria_gwyn (_laria_gwyn. livejournal. com_), who put up with my in/on constant mix ups and is so amazing in pointing out all plot holes. You're the best, bb. :3

* * *

**Drowning on dry land  
**by Dana Norram

* * *

It has been one of those days.

Actually, it has been one of those days almost every single day lately. Maybe those days had come to stay, to get homey and comfortable and Stiles should just accept that he wouldn't be getting regular days any longer. And by 'regular days' Stiles meant the days he got to hang out with a bunch of supernatural creatures without being almost physically mauled by said supernatural creatures.

Sometimes he almost missed the feeling of just being shoved against walls and other hard surfaces, dragged around by hunters wearing police uniforms or even fighting to stay afloat in a swimming pool with a dead weight in his arms for hours straight. Those times at least happened with a regular interval between them. A two, three days notice. He missed that a lot. Because Stiles Stilinski could be a teenager in mostly okay physical shape and with lots of energy piled up, but everyone needed a break from time to time. Some personal time to just sleep would be nice, for instance.

So, it has been one of those days and because of that Stiles misses his regular dose of Adderall and once he finally gets home (and in one piece, which with the Alpha Pack Situation he's definitely counting as a win), even if it is almost time for his next dose, Stiles skips it on purpose so he can get some sleep. He has done this before, once or twice. It isn't such a big deal, really. Stiles just has to get back on his regular schedule the next day and it will be perfectly okay.

_Those_ days have really come to stay, though, because Stiles wakes up at three PM on a Saturday with a text from Scott stating _GET TO THE HOSPITAL NOW_ and with a slightly fuzzy feeling in his brain, but blaming it on his actual sleepy condition, he just drags himself out of bed, puts on the first clothes he can find that don't have claw marks, pockets his phone, races down the stairs two steps at a time and grabs his car keys on the way out.

Stiles is halfway to Beacon Hills Hospital when he realizes that for the second day in a row he has forgotten to take his pills.

He bravely fights the sudden urge to slam his forehead against the steering wheel. Derek has already showed him that that particular move doesn't really help him to focus and now, as he's driving towards an unknown but likely dangerous and risky physical mauling situation, Stiles gathers he'll be needing all the focus he can master.

He doesn't take the trouble to check the glove box. Stiles is well aware he's been meaning to have an extra dose of Adderall stocked there for emergencies like this one for ages now, but little things keep getting in the way. Little things like werewolves, psycho hunters and giant vengeful killer lizards, not to mention school and, of course, the never-ending task of trying to keep his dad from learning all about werewolves, psycho hunters and giant vengeful killer lizards.

Also, let's not forget Stiles' latest resolution to move on from Lydia. A resolution, by the way, that has so far only gotten him to stumble over a new stash of dead bodies among other unpleasant things. Maybe Stiles just shouldn't have messed with the balance. Because his unrequited pining for Lydia Martin has been a solid constant in his life for years and things had been working, more or less, that way.

Okay, maybe he wasn't getting anywhere near to having the unrequited thing becoming any less unrequited and it's a truth that Scott got bitten and all even with Stiles' constant well in place, so maybe things were bound to go downhill anyway and thinking about that, Stiles wonders what the hell happened for Scott to summon him to the hospital like that... though he should at least be happy because it meant Scott was finally able to find his phone... yesterday they had rummaged around half of the woods trying to locate it, because apparently Scott had lost it running from the Alpha pack... But it had been a good thing to spend a whole day with Scott for a change, after all, since Isaac had started to act like Scott's shadow Stiles sometimes wondered if the two of them were still best friends... he had missed Scott... but if Scott is calling him to meet him at the hospital maybe things are getting back to normal and... oh my god, why is Derek's Camaro in the parking lot?

_Jesus_, Stiles turns off the engine and gently presses his forehead against the steering wheel of his jeep and sighs heavily. Twice. _I really, really wish I had taken those pills... what was I thinking... I should just call Scott and ask what he needs and get back before I do something stupid... maybe Mrs. McCall could get me a dose and... oh my god, what's that? I really should throw away these pants, how did I miss this stain, Jesus, it's passed beyond salvation, I should kill this with fire-_

Stiles jumps in his seat as there's a hard knock on his window. He hits the top of his head against the ceiling and almost bites his tongue. He looks around and thinks about how a normal person would just crack a smile and make fun of him or ask him if he was okay or maybe even apologize for startling him in the first place, but Derek Hale only glares at him through the glass, telling Stiles with his manly and hairy eyebrows to get out of the freaking car.

And Stiles thinks about how he really needs to stop making up this kind of conversation in his head. It's definitely unhealthy. Not to mention a bit pathetic.

He climbs out of the car.

"Scott is not here," Derek says by way of greeting. Stiles doesn't bother to ask how the hell he knows. Maybe Derek had spent the last few minutes sniffing around just to be sure. Man, those freaky werewolf powers.

"So he texted you too." Stiles fishes his phone from his pocket. It takes him only a couple of seconds before his call goes straight to Scott's voicemail. Stiles tries his house with the same results. "Aaand he's not home either."

Derek only makes a pained look in reply, the one that advertises he's already suspected that but he'd rather let Stiles lift all the weight before he can even try to be a bit cooperative. Stiles is too tired and jumpy to complain.

Stiles doesn't try Allison, because he doesn't want to worry her, yet. She and Scott have this weird vibe going on and Stiles is trying to be a good friend, for both of them, so maybe it's best to find out what's really going on before he makes things worse.

"So, let's see if his mom knows something." And not waiting for Derek, he makes his way inside the building.

It has been awhile since the last time Stiles had stepped into a hospital while off his meds and once the sensations hit him all at once he remembers why. It's overwhelming, the painful kind of overwhelming.

For a second he wonders if it's like that for Scott when he can't control his wolfiness. It's the smell that triggers it, probably, Stiles assures himself, trying to focus on something, anything. That smell of cheap pine disinfectant that clings against his skin, piercing through his pores, poisoning his veins all the way to his heart and lungs. It's the click of a gurney wheeling against the polished hospital floor, the _get out of the way!_ commands. It's the throaty coughing and the constant sneezing, the little cries barely hidden behind the white curtains. It's all those people waiting for bad news to arrive like a punch to the stomach and...

Stiles only realizes he's starting to panic when he feels strong fingers close on his shoulder. He blinks and presses his eyes shut for a second. Once he opens them, Derek's pained look is still there, only a little softened at the edges. His eyes, though, look aware and suddenly troubled.

"You shouldn't be here," he says and Stiles opens his mouth to protest but loses his chance as Derek's hand slips from Stiles' shoulder to his elbow and starts to haul him towards the hospital's left wing. The 'what the hell do you think you're doing, you caveman' Stiles has on the tip of his tongue is hushed by a hasty "_Come on_".

Stiles allows himself to been pulled deeper inside the hospital like it is too much information for him to process just yet. His mind flutters from people's faces to the clipboards in doctors' and nurses' hands, to old ladies on wheelchairs, to a small boy shouting his lungs out as a distressed young mother tries to settle her kid down. He closes his eyes and to prevent his mind from drifting in the direction he knows it's going to, the traitorous bitch, Stiles tries to free his elbow from Derek's grasp.

"Stop for a minute." Stiles retrieves his arm and makes an effort to put his shirt back in place. "Is there some evil creature parking outside these walls as we speak or did I miss this week's appointment for being manhandled by the Big Bad Wolf?"

Derek's eyebrows draw close together into a single dark, very reproachful hairy line.

"Yes," he hisses through his teeth, and with a sick feeling at the bottom of his stomach Stiles also notices a bit of red around the borders of his irises. "_Alphas_."

A hasty succession of events and pictures blow their way inside Stiles' mind.

... Scott telling him about running through the woods from the Alpha pack the day before... Scott spending half the afternoon calling Derek names for destroying his last phone a year ago... then Scott complaining he could not afford to lose _another_ phone... Stiles kneeling deep in the dirt as he stumbled on a rock over a puddle of mud... Scott trying very hard not to laugh as he helped Stiles back to his feet... Stiles telling Scott he could borrow an old phone he had stored somewhere in his room for not laughing at him... Both of them laughing together just like old times... The repeated message of _Unknown Location_ every time he tried to isolate Scott's phone using GPS after they had given up searching for it in the woods... then, then the conscious knowledge that Scott's phone should have had enough power left, unless someone had turned it off, but who on earth...

"Oh-my-god," Stiles blurts out, giving his forehead a loud slap. "They have Scott's phone!"

Derek's eyes flash completely red this time and his mouth turns into a tiny, angry line. "They lured us here."

"No shit, Sherlock," Stiles sneers, but he's not really mad _at_ Derek. Stiles is completely, utterly mad at himself, though.

He should have seen it coming. It's the kind of thing Stiles'd have imagined if he hadn't been dense enough to forget his Adderall again. Bad guys using Scott's name to draw his friends to a specific place? It had _happened before_ for crying out loud! Now he's gotten himself and Derek trapped inside a hospital full of sick and innocent people with the Alpha pack somewhere near intending to do god knows what. Of course it doesn't make sense to attract them to a public area if their intention is only to maul and kill them, and somehow that thought make Stiles ten times more terrified. Maybe they're planning something else, like to start panic among the civilian population? Put the police on Derek's trail (again)? If only he could stop and focus and _think_... Stiles pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath, trying to clear his head.

"Okay, okay," Stiles says, mostly to reassure himself. "How far away are they?"

Derek looks around and actually _sniffs_ for god's sakes. "A couple of miles, I guess."

"You _guess_?" Stiles gawps.

Derek glares at him. "We are in a hospital," he grunts like that explains it all. Stiles continues to stare back impatiently so Derek elaborates. "All these sick people, their scents combined it's, it's... Look, I just can't be sure."

Stiles fights the urge to laugh because it's like Derek skipped a dose of Adderall of his own.

"Okay, so we can't drive off because we don't know if they're too close. We can't call Scott because he doesn't have his phone." Stiles forces his brain to come up with a solution. "I guess we could call Isaac or Boyd..."

"Isaac and Boyd are out of town." Derek cuts him off. "There's Peter-"

"Oh my god, I can't believe you're willing to trust him. Do you remember the last time your crazy uncle and I shared the same space in a healthy facility? You should, because _you_ had your little werewolf ass kicked all the way through a glass window." Stiles scowls, something like a headache taking over him. "Okay, I'll call Allison and her-"

"You are _not_ calling the Argents on this," Derek almost howls.

Stiles flails, defeated. "Okay, alright, Derek. What do you suggest then? Hide in the supply closet and stay real quiet so they don't know we are there?"

Stiles is aware that Derek is perfectly well-versed in the fine art of sarcasm, so the only explanation for him grabbing Stiles' arm and pulling him down the hall is that Derek is as lost as he is. So Stiles doesn't argue. He's beyond the ability to try to reason with a large, grumpy werewolf. He's tired, unfocused, with a growing headache and facing the very real possibility of being physically mauled by supernatural creatures in the near future. Derek Hale can drag him to a supply closet if he wants to.

"Oh god, I'm too young to die," Stiles grumbles as the hospital corridors start to blur around him. "I'm definitely too young to die... and I shouldn't have given up on Lydia. I'd get there, eventually. I guess... I'm not that bad. Allison says my hair looks cuter this way... though I think it was a lot of trouble to let it grow for nothing, they're probably going to shave it for the autopsy, because my head will be smashed against a wall and my skull split in half. And my dad... _oh my god_ my dad is going to have to identify the body..."

"_Stop it_." Derek positively _howls_ this time. Stiles tries to look around, but Derek has his arm in a firm grip between his fingers and Stiles is forced to stare into his now fully red eyes. "I'm trying to pick a spot in this place where the pack won't be able to smell us but it's not going to matter if you _don't stop talking_. If I can pinpoint your annoying voice from three miles away, you can be sure that they can do it inside the walls of this hospital."

"Oh my god." Stiles gapes. "You can identify my voice from a three mile distance?"

Derek rolls his eyes at him. "Shut up, Stiles." Then Derek resumes dragging him a bit more.

For the next few seconds Stiles focuses on trying to understand what the hell Derek meant and he doesn't realize where he is being taken. It doesn't take long, though. It's like a blinding flash in his peripheral vision and instantly, Stiles knows. And he hates, he hates knowing.

It's the handmade panels with the well wishers cards, it's the smell of flowers mixed with the stench of chemo... The corridors where a small version of him wandered off for weeks that merged into months that dragged into years as his mom asked him to be a good boy and wait outside while she and his dad talked to the nice doctor... It's the troubled look on his mother's face, ashen... It's the corners of her mouth that turn into a smile only a second too late... It's the growing weakness of her arms as she hugs him... The way his father drinks multiple cups of coffee and tries to juggle his work at the police station, his hyperactive son, his dying wife...

Stiles only realizes he has stopped in his tracks with something like a scream choking in his throat when he hears his name being called in an urgent, demanding tone. A part of his brain know it is just Derek, that it's Derek trying to make him _move_. Trying to keep him safe. But Stiles can't shut out the small voice of his mom telling him she loves him very, very much. He can't shut out the doctor saying that his mom wouldn't be wakening up as he sneaks up to listen to him and his dad talking privately...

The scream trapped in his throat escapes and Stiles feels the air being punched out of him as his back is pressed against a wall at the same time his mouth is covered with Derek's huge hand, silencing him.

Stiles tries to breathe, but it's too much. He can't block out the smell, the sounds. The peaceful face of his mom as his dad turns off the machine that was doing the breathing for her. Stiles realizes he can't get enough air through his nostrils. His heartbeat is a madding sound pulsing inside his ribcage, trying to break free.

"_Stiles_!" It seems like ages before Derek's voice finally pierces through all of it, but once it does Stiles opens his eyes and sees a lot of red. "Stiles," Derek's voice is quiet, almost a whisper and Stiles can only hear it over the sound of his heart because they're pressed so close together. "Stiles, they just entered the building. I think it will be safe here, but you need to _calm down_."

Stiles looks around the best he can without being able to move his head. Other than the red of Derek's eyes there's a yellow light forcing its way through the gap between the ground and the door. Stiles can distinguish brooms and buckets and feels tears rolling from the corner of his eyes as he tries to choke back a laugh.

It makes sense, he thinks. There's no way the Alpha pack would be able to scent them so deep inside the cancer wing. The smell of the healthy and sick people together, the flowers for the dying, the wounds that leaked sickness, the tubes pumping poison disguised as medicine into the patients' veins, trying desperately to cheat death. But Stiles knows that's impossible. His mother died and now he is going to die in the same place she did and it's almost poetic isn't it...

"Stiles!" Derek presses him further into the wall. Stiles bumps his head against the hard surface. The pain makes his mind focus for a second and he stares at Derek again and he realizes he's never seen Derek so scared before in his life. That's it. They're going to die. Death by Alpha pack wouldn't look so good on his obituary, he considers. And Stiles bets he wouldn't even get the chance to say really cool last words, because they are not letting...

"What's wrong with you?" Derek's voice is so low that Stiles mostly just imagines the words. And he tries to explain. That he is not always like this, a rambling, useless, dead weight. He tries to say it was just a mistake, that he's sorry, but Derek's body against his is heavy and Stiles is so tired and he can't push Derek's hand off him, he can't speak, he can't explain. "Stiles, you need to calm your heartbeat. They're going to focus on the sound and find-"

Derek stops talking and _goggles_ at him. Stiles finds it oddly endearing, not to mention amusing, but maybe it's just the adrenaline talking. He watches as it happens in slow-motion as Derek's red eyes narrow, as he sinks his nose into Stiles' neck... as Derek sniffs deeply against his skin.

Stiles' heart skips a beat.

"You haven't taken your pills for one, almost two days now," Derek's voice is just a fragment of sound next to Stiles' ear. "You can't focus."

Stiles is divided between offering Derek a cookie or maybe kissing him in gratitude. Though he doesn't think Derek would like either. Thankfully, Stiles is excused from thinking any further as Derek's voice returns.

"Focus on me," Derek tells him, his tone even. Stiles realizes he can feel Derek's heartbeat against his chest and that's such a deep, resolute feeling. "Focus on my breathing, okay? Good air in, bad air out." Derek's breath touches his neck. A shiver runs down Stiles' spine. "Come on, Stiles. Can you do this for me? _Breathe_."

And Stiles breathes.

He doesn't shut his eyes. He breathes. He looks down. He stares at the gap of yellow light, then at the top of Derek's head, his shoulder, his dark hair. And he breathes.

Stiles breathes as his father had taught him when he got his first panic attacks. Long, deep, even breaths. The voice of his mother is still there, somewhere outside that supply closet, but then Derek's hand leaves Stiles' mouth and presses against his heart like he can slow it down with the power of his fingertips and Stiles focuses on this.

He focuses on Derek.

And Stiles breathes. Every time Derek inhales, Stiles exhales the air from his lungs and repeats the process until his heart's speed has dropped, finally matching Derek's. Stiles feels Derek's hand skim over his chest, past his Adam's apple, to finally settle at the back of his neck, slowly stroking his hair. Stiles closes his eyes and breathes, breathes.

He smells the leather of Derek's jacket. He feels Derek's stubble brushing against his neck. He remembers when he had jumped after Derek into the pool and held him up for more than two hours. Stiles didn't notice, couldn't have noticed, but now he can feel how warm Derek's body really is.

Stiles doesn't know how much time has passed, he doesn't care. He only cares that Derek's body is heavy and warm and solid against his. He only cares that the world is a really funny, frustrating place, because he and Derek have been snarling at each other from day one and yet they both continue to save each other's lives over and over. Maybe he would be okay. Maybe Stiles wouldn't have to die, not now, not here, not as long as Derek is-

"I think they're gone." Derek's regular tone of voice is like a slap next to his ear. Stiles jumps, but this time he doesn't hit his head on the wall, as Derek's hand on the back of his neck absorbs all the impact.

Stiles swallows, feeling suddenly thirsty. The warmth of Derek's body is starting to become unbearable and he fidgets, not knowing what to do with his limbs.

"You sure?" Stiles replies, his voice low. "You can't smell them from here either."

"I haven't heard them anywhere near this building for the past twenty minutes. I think they're gone."

Stiles doesn't argue. He's focused, now. He can pick up his phone and try Scott again. Maybe he's home now. He can call Scott's mom at the hospital desk and ask to see if there's anyone matching the Alpha pack's description wandering down the halls. He can function again, for awhile. Derek just saved him. And Stiles is not Derek and he can say thanks, _he can_-

"You okay?" Derek moves from his spot on Stiles' neck and looks into his eyes. They're ridiculously close and Derek's irises are no longer red. The tips of their noses are almost touching. Stiles feels his heartbeat start to speed up again, but he takes a deep breath and controls it. He controls it.

"Yep, thanks, man," Stiles answers and awkwardly tries to move his hands away to pat Derek's shoulder. That's when he notices he has somehow grabbed two handfuls of Derek's jacket and he coughs, apologetic, smoothing the fabric under his fingertips. "Hmm, sorry about that."

Derek takes a step back, putting a breathing distance between them. Stiles watches as Derek takes the trouble to straighten out his shirt, absolutely rumpled from all the pressing against the wall, the touching of Derek's hand over his heart. And Stiles doesn't fight a snort or his smile. Derek doesn't smile back right away because he's a freaking robot, but the edges of his mouth slowly start to soft and he nods, before opening the door and letting Stiles out.

They walk in silence, side by side, all the way to the parking lot. Stiles fumbles for a bit before he retrieves the car keys from his pocket. He bites on his lower lip and raises his head to look at Derek, still dead silent at his side. Stiles opens his mouth, but realizes he doesn't know what to say. This time it is Derek who lets a snort out.

"Give me the keys."

Stiles looks from Derek's hand, palm up, to the keys between his fingers. "Nah, dude, I'm fine-"

"Stiles." Derek does his I'm the Alpha Now voice and flashes his eyes red. "Give me your stupid keys."

They stare at each other for a couple of seconds. Stiles breaks away first, shrugs and hands Derek his keys. Derek walks towards the driver's seat and settles in. Stiles watches as he turns the engine on. But he only moves when Derek looks up at him.

"Are you coming or not?"

Stiles yanks open the passenger door, climbs in. Derek drives off.

His phone buzzes a minute after they leave the hospital. It's Scott. Stiles feels really relived just from hearing his voice. They chat a bit, Stiles tells him a very, very short version of what happened at the hospital and Scott promises Stiles he's going to cancel his line immediately. Stiles tells Scott to swing by the next day and take Stiles' old phone and try to not misplace it this time. They could even watch a movie or play Halo, he offers. Stiles has the feeling he won't be skipping another dose of Adderall in the near future, so he should keep himself busy.

There's silence once Stiles pockets his phone. Derek keeps his eyes on the road and says nothing. Stiles wants to ask him what the Alpha pack could have wanted with them in the first place. Why they had given up so easily. Though Derek has that nasty habit of keeping important things to himself that tends to blow up in _all_ of their faces sooner or later, Stiles can't shake off Derek's troubled look as he realized the Alpha pack was approaching. Maybe this was the real reason Derek had looked so scared in the supply closet. Not only because Stiles had been acting nine kinds of weird, but because even with all his werewolf mojo Derek couldn't have known what to expect, didn't know what to do...

As Derek parks outside the Stilinski house, Stiles doesn't move from his spot. He watches as Derek turns off the jeep and put both of his hands back on the steering wheel. Derek looks straight ahead, as if he's gathering the courage to say something. Stiles knows better than to push, though now that the adrenaline has started to fade, his ability to focus is growing fainter by the second.

Stiles takes a deep, clear breath, unable to stop himself.

"You going to be fine?" Derek finally lets out.

Stiles pauses for a bit. "Yeah," he shrugs. "I usually don't take a dose around this time because it doesn't let me sleep, but I'm not risking another day like this one, no, no sir."  
Stiles wonders if he should just go ahead and ask Derek about what happened. Maybe invite him in so they could talk about this and together reach some kind of explanation? At the same time he tries not to think about Derek's body pressed against his, and fails entirely. "Just... I think I'll take advantage of this long, sleepless and lonely night ahead of me and see if I can get some research done. Let's say I'm personally motivated to find as much lore about Alpha packs as I can. We don't know what to expect from them and it's driving me crazy..."

Derek nods, his hands still gripping the steering wheel. Stiles wonders if he's going to leave claw marks on his baby, but he doesn't push his luck. After a moment, Derek lets his head fall against the seat, before turning his face so he can look at Stiles.

"Want some company?"

Derek's voice is nonchalant, but there's something there. Stiles can't put his finger on what it's exactly, but he's willing to find out. And he can't help thinking about Derek's warm body. His quiet voice telling Stiles to breathe for him.

"Well." And Stiles breathes. "Given the nature of my current investigation..." Stiles breathes and smiles a small smile. "I guess I could use a consulting Alpha."

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**Notes:** This was originally posted at my Live Journal and AO3. English is not my mother language, so any constructive criticism or suggestion is very welcome. (: Also, I think in case I decide to continue this I'd call it the _My wall My rules_ series. I'm not kidding.


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